


Obeying Intergalactic Laws is for OTHER People

by CandyQueenAO3



Series: Kink Memes and Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Crowley and Aziraphale are aliens, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), I ain't about that weak shit, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fill, Romance, Sort Of, slow burn? nah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyQueenAO3/pseuds/CandyQueenAO3
Summary: Aziraphale is an Aerial, a graceful immortal race of aliens capable of wielding the Aether as a tool. When he needs to track down a lost book located in a forbidden territory to add to the Alliance Archives where he works, he seeks out the infamous smuggler Anthony J. Crowley to help him.*~*~*~*~*“I suppose you’re here to arrest me? Better men than you have tried and all failed,” Without preamble, the smuggler’s hand shot out to seize Aziraphale by his shirt collar and drag him half onto the table so that they were practically nose-to-nose. “What makes you think some primped and polished scholar has even half a chance of succeeding?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Kink Memes and Prompt Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701448
Comments: 18
Kudos: 149
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner, Most Favs





	Obeying Intergalactic Laws is for OTHER People

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill for march-of-the-martyrs's April 2020 theme list. I chose the prompt "Aliens".

Aziraphale found his guide seated at the back table of some dingy tavern in some dingy spaceport in some dingy, backwater galaxy. The man he was looking for was reputed to be one of the most infamous smugglers the Planetary Alliance ever had the displeasure of trying to arrest. Willing to do whatever it took to earn some Credits, there was supposedly  _ no job  _ that Anthony J. Crowley wouldn’t take.

He was  _ just  _ the person that Aziraphale needed.

Aziraphale wound his way through the dimly lit bar, careful to avoid stepping on beings of all races and species collapsed in puddles of their own drunken sick, and plonked down into a creaky chair across the table from where Crowley sat nursing a tankard of something foul smelling.

The smuggler lifted golden, serpentine eyes.

“Can I help you sssstranger?”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered. “Forgive me. I wasn’t expecting you to be a Serpenti.”

“What elsssse was I suppossssed to be? An aardvark?”

“I… I don’t know what an aardvark is,” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley just scoffed and knocked back the last dregs of his drink. “I’m not sssssurprised. You don’t exactly look like the type who’ssss well-travelled.”

The last threads of Aziraphale’s patience snapped (and he did too).

“Oh for goodness’s sake, will you  _ stop  _ dragging out your s-sounds? I  _ know  _ you don’t have a lisp, just as well as I know that you’re hamming up the whole ‘serpent’ angle to try and appear more intimidating so I’ll leave you alone!”

Now it was  _ Crowley’s  _ turn to be surprised. His forked tongue (which until now had been scenting the air) hung limply from between his lips like he had just been licking an ice cream cone that was rudely snatched away. Aziraphale arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow and Crowley quickly schooled his features into careful nonchalance.

“Oh? You seem to know more about me than I thought. Care to explain how?” he asked, leaning back to complete the “I’m not actually bothered at being found out” look.

Aziraphale said nothing, just fished around in the pack he held at his side until he produced a gold-plated badge in the shape of an opened book. He brandished it under the smuggler’s nose like it was a weapon.

“I am Aziraphale, an archivist for the Planetary Alliance. I’ve read your arrest warrants, watched the security footage of you that was seized as evidence, and was even present at the annual Alliance Gala that  _ you  _ snuck into in order to blackmail King Hordak of Dryl,” he tucked the badge away with a smug smile. “I like to think I’ve got a fairly decent understanding of you.”

Crowley’s expression was unreadable, but Aziraphale  _ swore  _ he could see the other man’s pupils dilate a fraction.

“I suppose you’re here to arrest me? Better men than you have tried and  _ all failed _ ,” Without preamble, the smuggler’s hand shot out to seize Aziraphale by his shirt collar and drag him half onto the table so that they were practically nose-to-nose. “What makes you think some primped and polished  _ scholar  _ has even half a chance of succeeding?”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s wrist and the smuggler yelped in pain as a jolt of electricity sparked up the entire length of his arm. He released Aziraphale, who sat back in his chair and straightened his shirt. Over the man’s shoulder, Crowley could make out the faint impression of shimmery, ethereal  _ wings. _

“I am not  _ just  _ some ‘primped and polished scholar’, my good man. I am  _ Aziraphale,  _ an Aerial. I am ageless, and can command the raw Aether to do my bidding as I see  _ fit _ !” he spat, faint arcs of power crackling from eyes that had gone electric blue. 

Crowley, quite against his will, found himself shrinking in his chair. 

Aerials were a graceful, immortal race of winged humanoids who could channel the energy of the surrounding Aether into great feats of what could only be described as “magic”. Though Crowley had no doubt that he could probably outmaneuver Aziraphale in one-on-one combat, he also had to admit that, in these cramped quarters, he was at a disadvantage if the Aerial sought to kill him. 

Faced with the odds being stacked against him, Crowley defaulted to what he did best: bluffing.

“Are you  _ sure  _ you want to tangle with me,  _ angel _ ?” he hissed. Aziraphale flinched slightly at the derogatory word akin to a slur amongst the Aerials, and Crowley pressed his advantage. He let his fangs extend to poke over his lips and flexed them enough that two pinpricks of venom dripped to the tabletop with a sizzle. Black scales sprouted from the backs of his hands as his eyes bled gold from end to end. “Do you think you can summon your magic faster than I can bite? Surely you’ve heard of the Serpenti’s  _ legendary  _ speed?”

“Oh for-”

Aziraphale reached into his pack again, this time slamming down a razor-thin piece of plastic with a truly  _ staggering  _ amount of Credits etched into the surface. Crowley made a noise like “ngk” somewhere in the back of his throat at the sight of it.

“I’m not trying to  _ arrest  _ you, Crowley. I want to  _ hire  _ you!” the Aerial huffed.

Crowley’s hand twitched in the direction of the Credits, but Aziraphale snatched it back before he could do anything. “Ah-ah-ah! You will receive  _ half  _ the payment up front, and then the other half once the job is complete.”

The smuggler sneered and leaned back into his chair, booted feet propped up on the table.

“What’s the job then? I need to know before I accept,” he explained.

“What? Really? I was told you’ll accept  _ any  _ job,” Aziraphale pouted, obviously put-out.

“Looks like you don’t know as much about me as you thought, angel,”

Aziraphale, to his own surprise, didn’t recoil at the use of the word “angel”. The way Crowley had said it this time sounded almost begrudgingly fond. The Aerial just “tsk”-ed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Very well. A short time ago, through means I decline to share, I uncovered the location of a rare book that has been eluding me for  _ centuries _ . The Alliance’s Archive doesn’t have a single copy, so I want  _ you  _ to escort me to its location so I may retrieve it,” Aziraphale explained.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “I get the  _ distinct  _ impression that you aren’t telling me everything. Why not just hire a mercenary or get one of the Archive’s guards to take you?”

“Er… that is… well…” Aziraphale’s eyes were cast down and he fiddled with the ring on his pinkie. “I tried, but the book isn’t exactly in an ‘Alliance Approved’ territory. In fact, the book can be found on a small planet, inside a smaller ruin in the No-Go Zone,” Crowley sputtered at the revelation, but Aziraphale ignored him. “So I wanted to hire you to smuggle  _ me  _ over the border, then, after I retrieve the book, smuggle me back in.”

Crowley slammed his palms on the table and whispered, “Have you lost your bleedin’  _ mind _ ?! I’ve done  _ a lot  _ of illegal things, but sneaking an Alliance employee into  _ the one place in the entire universe  _ that’s specifically closed off - for  _ very  _ good reason I might add - is a  _ whole  _ new level of illegal! I’m not risking my ship  _ or  _ my life for some stupid book!”

Aziraphale levelled a hard glare at the other man. He snapped his fingers suddenly, and the Credits appeared in his hand, pinched between his first and middle finger. 

“Would  _ this  _ be enough to convince you?  _ Three-quarters  _ up front, then an extra thirty percent in addition to the remaining quarter upon completion.  _ And  _ even if I  _ never  _ find the book, you’ll still receive the offered payment,” Aziraphale (the bastard) waved the card back and forth under Crowley’s nose, who was helpless but to follow it with his eyes.

_ With money like that, I could buy the Bentley a whole new engine  _ and  _ coat of paint. Start a new life  _ far  _ from here, _ the smuggler thought.

His lips twitched once, twice, then he threw back his head with a dramatic groan. “ _ Fine!  _ I’ll take you to get your stupid book! If we end up dead, though, I’m gonna haunt you for eternity!”

Aziraphale, still holding the card, folded his hands under his chin with a simpering grin.

“Oh I’m  _ counting on it _ , dear,”

*~*~*~*~*

Crowley’s spaceship, the Bentley, was a vintage model, but had been so well taken care of that one would hardly be blamed for thinking it fresh off the lot. The smuggler, however, piloted it like a man possessed and Aziraphale had to cling to his co-pilot’s chair to keep himself from tumbling to the floor of the cabin every time Crowley took a sharp turn around a comet or spun into a roll. He half suspected that the man was  _ purposefully  _ trying to scare him off with wild flying.

“You alright there, angel?” Crowley cackled as he levelled out the ship with a violent jerk of the throttle attached to his Captain’s chair.

“T-tickety boo, dear,” Aziraphale gurgled.

The Aerial slumped into his seat, but Crowley seemed utterly unaffected.

“We’re coming up on the border to the No-Go Zone now,”

“So, what’s your plan for getting us through?”

“I was just thinking of gunning the throttle and hoping they don’t catch us,”

“ _ Crowley!” _

The smuggler laughed uproariously at Aziraphale’s panicked face. “I’m  _ kidding _ , angel. Mostly. I  _ do  _ intend to just fly us through, but I’ll need a little something from you first.”

“W-what is it?”

Crowley waved his hand around in an all-encompassing gesture. 

“I need  _ you  _ to perform a little bit of magic. If you can, I want you to make the Bentley invisible. I can use the ship’s computer to put up a small shield so that our heat signature isn’t detected, but I can only do that for a short time before the engine cooks us alive from the retained heat, so I really  _ will  _ have to gun it. But, if we work together, we can get over the border and back with no trouble.”

Aziraphale rose from his seat to place both hands on the dashboard of the Bentley. He closed his eyes, scrunched up his nose, and then a silver shimmer flashed across every surface of the ship’s cabin (including the occupants) for a split second.

“Alright, it’s cast. Go! We don’t have much time!” he ordered.

Crowley didn’t hesitate to obey. He flicked a switch on his chair-side console to throw up the shields, then pressed the throttle forward until it was practically parallel to the floor.

In hindsight, Aziraphale should  _ probably  _ have been belted in.

The Bentley shot forward with such sudden momentum that Aziraphale was thrown backwards. He expected to land hard on his back on the cold floor, but was surprised instead to find himself dropping into a warm lap.

“Hold on, angel!” yelled Crowley over the hum of the Bentley’s taxed engine.

One of the smuggler’s arms snaked around Aziraphale’s chest to pin him to the body beneath in a grip like iron. Aziraphale let his back fall against Crowley’ chest as the floor beneath them began to rattle from the force of their acceleration.

“ _ Cro-o-o-wleeeeeey!!” _

“Just another second or two, angel! We’re almost out of sight of the border!”

Aziraphale clutched at the arm barred across his chest as if it were the only thing keeping him from flying to pieces. In a way, it was.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, the rumbling stopped. Crowley returned the Bentley to a semi-decent cruising speed as he tore the shields down. Aziraphale did much of the same with his Invisibility charm. The two of them, still tangled together, slumped in their shared seat.

“Once I find my book I am  _ never  _ flying with you again,” the Aerial panted.

“Aw, it wasn’t  _ that bad _ , was it?” Crowley’s other arm let go of the throttle to rest across Aziraphale’s soft stomach. He hooked his chin over his shoulder and grinned out of the corner of his eye.

Aziraphale chuckled and patted the side of the smuggler’s face. “It was  _ dreadful.  _ Positively  _ horrendous.  _ Got my first taste of true mortality, I did,” Then, quite all at once, he realized how close he was to Crowley and  _ where he was sitting. _

He leapt up like he had been scalded. “A-anyway, thank you for getting us through. The planet where the book resides is not far from here.”

Aziraphale took his seat back in the co-pilot’s chair and pretended to ignore Crowley’s slightly lost-looking expression; the way the smuggler’s hands, still poised like they were holding him, closed fitfully around empty air once or twice.

“Right. Yeah. Sure, angel,”

Crowley resumed his piloting of the Bentley towards the coordinates Aziraphale gave, arms and lap feeling distinctly void of something he hadn’t even known he wanted.

*~*~*~*~*

True to Aziraphale’s word, the planet was indeed small (and uninhabited, if his research was anything to go by). Before Crowley could start griping about having to search the  _ entire thing  _ for  _ one  _ ruin, his contemporary was already informing him that the ruin’s exact location was already known and to “ _ please touch down as close as you can, dear _ ”.

The rainforest-like canopy of the jungle surrounding the ruin was too dense for the Bentley to successfully penetrate, so Crowley navigated them just outside the treeline.

Just as the smuggler went to open the airlock, Aziraphale held him back.

“Hold on, dear. This planet’s oxygen concentration is at 12%. We wouldn’t survive out there for long without protection,” He flicked his wrist and they both felt a cool rush of  _ something  _ into their lungs. “There we are. As long as this charm is up, we’ll be safe. My magic will sustain mine, but I’ve attached yours to your heartbeat instead, since you don’t have magic reserves,”

Crowley rubbed at his chest until the bizarre sensation went away. “Bloody  _ hell _ , angel. How are all these trees alive then?”

“Anaerobic respiration, I’d wager. They absorb the carbon dioxide put off by their decaying plant neighbors, and release the oxygen byproduct into the  _ soil  _ rather than the atmosphere. From what I’ve heard, oxygenated soil makes for improved growth,”

Crowley made a noise in the affirmative. He’d have to remember to grab a bag or two before they left. He’d always wanted to start a small garden aboard the Bentley. With thoughts of Credits  _ and  _ fancy dirt in his mind, he hit the button to release the airlock.

Upon stepping onto the planet’s surface, the two of them were hit with a burst of hot, humid air that felt as thick as soup. Crowley, Serpenti that he was, groaned in appreciation and stretched his limbs like he was sunning on a warm rock.

“ _ Oh  _ it’s just like my home planet _! _ ” He delighted in the almost instantaneous unlocking of his muscles.

“Easy f-for  _ you  _ to say!” Gasped Aziraphale. “I’m positively  _ broiling _ !”

His white and blue-trimmed robes that marked him as an Archivist were already clinging to his skin atop a thin sheen of sweat. Crowley snickered.

“Eh, at least it’s not too far a hike. Those are the ruins you’re looking for, right?” He pointed above the canopy. It was a roughly one or two kilometer hike through the jungle to where a towering ziggurat of blackish-green stone stood out against the bright blue of the cloudless sky.

“That’s the one. I suppose we’d better get walking before I melt completely,”

“Did you bring any supplies? I don’t see a pack on you,”

Aziraphale frowned and snapped his fingers. A clear, gel-like orb filled with water about the size of a large golf ball appeared in his hands. 

“I keep supplies in a little pocket dimension of my own design. Saves me from having to lug around heavy bags,” he explained. He tossed the orb into the air and it vanished again. Crowley nodded, impressed.

“Clever, angel. Got any booze in that ‘pocket’?”

“No. So don’t ask again,”

The smuggler just raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

With that, they both set off towards the ziggurat.

*~*~*~*~*

“Oh sweet Mother,  _ thank you _ !” 

The duo had reached the base of the ruin, but that wasn’t what Aziraphale was captivated by. A crystal-clear pool of water shaded partly by what appeared to be tendrils of wisteria was what had captured his attention.

“I thought you said this planet had no oxygen. Water’s made of oxygen, right?” Crowley asked, gesturing at the pool.

“Yes, but when it evaporates it doesn’t break down into oxygen  _ and  _ hydrogen, it just becomes water in vapor form,”

Just as the smuggler was about to inquire further, Aziraphale bolted past him, shucking off his robes as he went. Crowley’s voice was strangled in his throat at the sight of all that pale flesh suddenly exposed to him. 

_ Oh  _ Somebody,  _ he’s not wearing underthings, _ was his single frantic thought.

Aziraphale didn’t hesitate a second more before tossing himself bodily into the oasis with a clumsy splash. The water was pleasantly cool, but not enough to be biting. His head and torso broke the surface and he slicked his snow-white curls back with a near pronographic moan of relief from the heat that had Crowely desperately looking anywhere  _ but  _ in the Aerial’s direction.

“Come on in, my dear! The water’s  _ lovely _ !” Aziraphale called with a friendly wave.

Crowley shifted from foot to foot, hoping that his somewhat naturally lower body temperature would conceal the blush creeping up his neck.

“Can’t. Looks too cold. Might send me into torpor,” He  _ mostly  _ exaggerated.

“Ah, yes. Can’t have that, can we?”

Aziraphale ducked under the water to re-wet his hair. While he was occupied, Crowley toed off his boots and sat at the edge of the bank to submerge his legs up to the calf. Aziraphale had been right, the water  _ was  _ perfect; not too hot as to be uncomfortable, but also not cold enough to trigger brumation.

The smuggler leaned back, allowing the heat of the day to sink into his body and blend pleasantly with the coolness from his legs. When he felt something grab his ankle, he shrieked and fell on his back. Aziraphale’s upper half popped up from between Crowley’s legs, holding the ankle out of the water.

“ _ Fascinating _ ,” he breathed. “You have  _ scales  _ on the soles of your  _ feet!” _

From where Crowley was sprawled, Aziraphale practically  _ towered  _ over him. He fought down a whimper as his eyes (slowly) followed the path of a water droplet down the side of Aziraphale’s neck to where it came to rest in the jut of his clavicle. 

Crowley’s head was filled with a  _ very  _ vivid image of himself following that same path with his  _ tongue _ , and the delighted, breathy moans from the scholar that would immediately follow. The feel of a single fingernail scratching at the bottom of his foot to test the sturdiness of the scales there brought him back to reality. He yanked his foot away and plunged it back under the water.

“Anyone tell you it’s  _ rude  _ to stare?! ‘Sides, they keep me from having to wear shoes all the time,” he snapped.

Aziraphale’s laughter was light and musical as he scooted over to prop his arms on the bank of the oasis. He pillowed his head on his arms with his face turned towards Crowley (who was  _ desperately  _ trying to not notice how close the other man’s head was to his thigh). 

“Forgive my boldness. I’ve just never had the chance to truly interact with one of your kind,” Aziraphale smiled, looking more relaxed than Crowley had seen him at any point during their trip.

“Makes sense. People aren’t really too fond of  _ my kind _ ,” Crowley grumbled.

No one quite knew who started it, or how the first stereotype came to be, but Serpenti weren’t looked upon too favorably by other “civilized” races. Over several generations, they had developed a reputation as thieves, conmen, and murderers. As such, many Serpenti found themselves unable to hold steady jobs because of the discrimination heaped upon them, and many  _ did  _ turn to unsavory work just to get by, thus propogating the cycle.

Crowley bristled at the memory of people jeering at him in the streets as he passed; at how children would either scream and run at the sight of his eyes, or throw rocks at him like he really  _ was  _ just a snake doomed to squirm forever at their feet.

“I never believed the the stereotypes, you know,”

Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, but it was enough to pull Crowley out of his self-destructive spiral. The smuggler, however, was too wound up and refused to be placated that easily.

“ _ Riiiight _ . You just ‘happened’ to pick out the  _ only  _ Serpenti in that tavern to help smuggle you in and out of the No-Go Zone,” he scoffed with a roll of his slitted eyes.

Aziraphale didn’t take the bait.

“No, my dear boy. I chose you because you’re the  _ famous  _ Anthony J. Crowley, Smuggler Extraordinaire. I hired you not because of  _ what  _ you are, but because of  _ who  _ you are. I knew that what I was doing was too risky for even the most hardened of criminals, but the man who last year successfully smuggled thirty slave children out of captivity and into better lives, well… I figured maybe  _ he  _ could help me,”

Crowley swallowed. “Y-you… you knew that was  _ me _ ?”

Aziraphale replied with a teasing smile, “Like I said earlier, I know more about you than you think. Children talk.  _ Especially  _ about a golden-eyed hero who saved them.”

“‘M not a hero,”

Crowley turned away, but didn’t actually get up to leave. Aziraphale sighed deeply.

“Besides, I know how it feels to be typecast. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about Aerials? How we’re all wanton and will choose  _ anything  _ for a mate, except for our own kind? How we’ll bear or sire offspring with the lowliest creature, but  _ never  _ a fellow Aerial because we’re also just  _ too good  _ for each other?”

Crowley faced Aziraphale again, but the Aerial’s eyes were fixated on the ring on his pinkie. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but Crowley  _ had  _ heard the stories; even seen it first hand. Aerials exclusively took mates outside their own race. A two Aerial couple was  _ unheard of _ , though very few people knew the reason. Aerials were uncommon enough, but they were also a fiercely secretive race who kept their mysteries close to their hearts.

“So… what’s the truth, then?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sighed again, but didn’t deny him an answer.

“The truth is that  _ every single Aerial  _ is related by blood. I have _ thousands  _ of siblings. Every Aerial you’ve ever met was birthed from the first one. She has no name; we all call Her Mother. It was from Her we were born, and it’s to Her we return after death. My kind do not ‘mix’ with our own, because to do so would create an epidemic of incest and inbreeding, so we seek romance and families with others,”

Crowley exhaled a “ _ whoa” _ and then, “That’s a  _ lot  _ of babies!”

The solemn moment was shattered and Aziraphale buried his face in his hands with a snort of laughter.

“It is indeed. I’ve never even  _ met  _ the vast majority of my siblings. There’s a few I  _ do  _ know, but if you were to gather all of us in a room, there would be a  _ lot  _ of awkward introductions being made,”

Crowley snickered at the mental image. Then he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“In all seriousness, angel, thank you for telling me about this stuff. I know your kind likes to keep their ineffability, so it means a lot that you trust me enough with this information,” he said.

Aziraphale smirked up at him. “It’s no trouble at all, my dear. Though, I  _ should  _ warn you that I’m not much like my siblings.”

“ _ You?!” _ Crowley gasped in mock surprise. “The Alliance Archivist who approached the notorious Anthony J. Crowley and  _ strong-armed  _ him into smuggling him over the borders of established space?  _ You’re  _ not like your siblings?” Then, before he could second guess whether or not it would be appropriate, he reached over and tucked a soggy powder-white curl of hair behind Aziraphale’s ear. “I’m counting on it.”

*~*~*~*~*

In all honesty, when they stepped into the ruin, Crowley half expected to be showered by a hail of arrows from a booby trap or crushed by a giant, rolling boulder ( _ also _ from a booby trap). 

At the  _ very least  _ he should have been menaced by a skeletal guard or two.

But, alas, real life doesn’t work like  _ excellent  _ movies.

Abandoned ruins are just that; abandoned.

Aziraphale flicked his wrist and a glowing ball of light appeared in the air between them.

“I suppose we’d better start looking for the book. Shouldn’t be hard to miss,”

With that, he set off at a decent clip into the ruins, forcing Crowley to keep pace to avoid being left behind in the darkness.

They peeked into empty rooms, rifled through old storage containers filled nearly to the brim with dust, and even prodded the wall for any hidden compartments, but came up empty every time As they approached the back of the ruin, Crowley began worrying.

He  _ tried  _ telling himself that he was only worried about his payment, but he knew Aziraphale would uphold his promise to pay him in full even if the job wasn’t able to be completed. He  _ wanted  _ to pretend that this fussy little scholar’s happiness meant nothing to him. The thought of seeing that adorable mouth turned down into a rictus of disappointment, however, was what spurred him into his revelation.

Anthony J. Crowley, notorious criminal, wanted for countless acts of thievery and smuggling, wanted this job to be a success, payment or no. More than that, he wanted Aziraphale to be  _ happy _ . He wanted to  _ be the reason  _ that Aziraphale was happy.

This thought didn’t unnerve him as much as he feared it would. In fact, it settled into his chest with a comforting warmth; like it was always meant to be there. Still, there  _ was  _ the lingering little voice at the back of his mind reminding him, “ _ These nice feelings won’t last! Once he finds the book, he’ll be gone! He won’t need you anymore! He’ll be out of your life  _ forever!”

That last one caused Crowley to stumble, but a strong hand on the inner crook of his elbow kept him from sprawling flat on the dusty floor.

“Goodness, are you alright?”

“Uh- y-yeah, angel. Just slipped on a loose stone. ‘M fine,”

Aziraphale removed his hand and Crowley had to keep himself from chasing after it. “This is the last chamber of the ruins. I have a good feeling about this one!”

The Aerial’s smile was giddy as he stepped over the threshold into the space beyond. The room was cavernous, but empty of everything save a carved pedestal directly in the center. Bioluminescent moss lined the walls in spongy patches that cast an ethereal blue-green glow over everything. Aziraphale whistled lowly in appreciation of the sight, but Crowley’s gaze was rooted firmly on the face of the being beside him. The light emanating from the moss illuminated Aziraphale’s features in such a way that made his eyes  _ shine _ . The irises were the color of glaciers, of  _ lightning _ . Crowley could have  _ sworn  _ he even saw faerie lights dancing through them.

_ It’s now or never. _

The smuggler cleared his throat to get Aziraphale’s attention and asked, “So, angel, once you get your book, what do you intend to do after?”

His companion pursed his lip thoughtfully and Crowley once again had to keep himself from doing something stupid (like kiss those lips). 

“Well, I suppose I’ll take the book back to the Archives,” Aziraphale hummed. Then he elbowed Crowley playfully with a wink. “Or maybe I’ll just keep it all to myself. You know, as a memory of this little adventure of ours.”

“Sounds like a good plan, angel. Whatever you want. Although…” Crowley trailed off when Aziraphale looked up at him through wide, almost hopeful eyes.

“Yes? Crowley?”

Under the full force of that gaze, Crowley was speechless. He had  _ wanted  _ to address this unspoken  _ thing _ smouldering quietly between them, in the hopes of potentially kindling it into something  _ more. _ He had  _ wanted  _ to lay his intentions out plain and simple along the lines of, “ _ Hey, Aziraphale, I really like you and think you’re pretty amazing. I was hoping that you would have more smuggling requests for me so that I can keep having the excuse to see you over and over again.” _

Instead, all that spilled out of his mouth was a half-baked, “Got any more jobs for me? You pay really well!”

Aziraphale’s face shuttered and Crowley got the distinct impression that that had been the wrong thing to say. 

_ Fucking shit! Good one you  _ stupid snake!  _ Now he’ll just think it’s money you’re after! _

Before he could correct himself, Aziraphale was snapping downwards with a mumbled, “Ah, yes. Almost forgot.” and then he was holding Crowley’s Credits in between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed the plastic card into the smuggler’s hands.

“As promised, your payment in full as compensation for a job well done,” he said.

Crowley turned it over in his hold before pocketing it.

“But, angel, I haven’t-”

“I said you would be paid even if we didn’t find the book and I’m a man of my word. I know you’ll also get me back over the border safely. You won’t just run off with the money and leave me here while I finish up looking. I  _ trust you _ , Crowley. May as well give it to you now before I forget later,” Aziraphale interrupted.

He gave the smuggler another one of those dazzling,  _ beautiful _ smiles, though it was tinged with the faintest traces of sadness. Crowley lifted a hand to- well, he wasn’t quite sure. Wipe that sadness away with his thumb like he was wicking away a tear? Run his fingers over Aziraphale’s plump bottom lip before covering it with his own mouth? Take the other’s hand and repeat his earlier question, this time with the  _ correct  _ words?

He never got the chance to find out what he was going to do. Aziraphale had caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and was practically sprinting over to the altar where it lay. 

“Oh goodness! I think this is it!” The scholar gasped.

Atop the altar was a red, leather-bound book. The pages were yellow and frayed, and the cover had cracked and faded so much as to be near illegible. Nonetheless, Aziraphale lifted it up, tearing away the cobwebs clinging to it with a trembling reverence. “This  _ is  _ it!”

He looked like he wanted to hug the book to his chest but thought better of it. He tossed it straight up whereupon it vanished with a faint popping sound. Aziraphale wheeled around to face Crowley.

“ _ Thank you _ , my dear! You have absolutely  _ no idea  _ what this means to me!” 

“Eh, ‘s no problem, ang-”

Crowley was silenced by Aziraphale throwing his arms around him in a fierce embrace hard enough to nearly topple the both of them over. The smuggler’s arms came up without any conscious consideration from his higher faculties to press their bodies closer together. He allowed himself a bit of boldness, and pressed a feather-light, imperceptible kiss to a single errant tuft of hair sticking up from the top of Aziraphale’s head.

_ Oh fuck. He smells like sweet pea flowers and clean linen under all the dust and sweat. _

Would he taste like champagne or sunshine or any of those other stupid cliches that poets and writers alike claimed true love tasted like? 

Aziraphale stepped away with a nervous giggle.

“Well then, shall we be off? After you!” He bowed slightly at the waist and extended a hand back towards the entrance of the ruins. 

Then a piercing shriek rent the silence of the ruins. It sounded like the scream was coming from all directions, and neither Crowley or Aziraphale could pinpoint its location. The source of the cry soon made itself apparent when a giant  _ thing  _ dropped down from the ceiling.

Its body was round and black, every inch covered in needle-like protrusions. Half a dozen glittering obsidian eyes glared down at the petrified duo as it propped itself up on eight spindly legs like a harvestman arachnid.

“C-crowley… what is that?” Aziraphale whimpered as his hand closed around the other man’s arm in a vice-grip.

All Crowley could do was utter a rusty squeak that, in later years, he would deny ever making. 

A pair of chelicerae on the creature’s face parted to reveal a set of fangs dripping with green venom and it screeched again, sending spittle flying.

Crowley found his voice.

“Fucking  _ run!!” _

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice, even as he felt his hand grabbed and his body pulled out of the room by Crowley. The monster loped after them on angular legs that really had no business supporting an animal of its size!

“I don’t think we can outrun it, dear!” Aziraphale yelled over the sounds of skittering feet.

“Got any  _ better  _ plans?!”

Aziraphale lifted his free hand and a roaring wall of flames sprang into existence between them and the creature, who howled its frustration before ducking down a side passage.

“That might slow him down a bit, but our best bet will be getting out of its territory,” the Aerial panted, slightly drained from casting such a high-energy spell.

“ _ Way  _ ahead of you, angel! Keep moving!”

They made it as far as being within sight of the exit before a wall, weathered with age and unsteady from the cracks in its edifice, exploded outwards from the creature bursting through it. Crowley was yanked away from Aziraphale by the force of the explosion and his head smashed into a corner whereupon he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

“ _ CROWLEY!!” _

Aziraphale couldn’t go to check on his friend; to turn his back on the creature would mean certain death for them both. Instead he sliced his hand through the air and a portion of the ruined wall slammed into the creature, pinning it to the opposite one. It hissed and dribbled venom, but remained restrained for the time being.

Aziraphale immediately went to his knees beside the incapacitated smuggler and prodded his skull for any signs of cracks or breaks. There was a nasty gash on his temple that stained the entire left half of his face red, but his breathing was steady. Aziraphale pressed two fingers to the wound and the flesh knit back together. With a little extra push of magic, he even ensured that Crowley would awaken soon, free of any pain or concussion.

Then, from behind him, came the sound of something  _ sharp  _ whistling through the air.

He had turned his back on the creature.

*~*~*~*~*

Crowley was accosted by a riot of sensory input as he stumbled back into consciousness. He could hear the creature snarling, a whiz that sounded like knives being tossed, then a pained grunt as something slammed into a flesh.

His vision swam into focus and the first thing Crowley saw were  _ wings. _

Specifically,  _ Aziraphale’s wings. _

They were no longer just vague impressions of a shimmery wing-shape behind Aziraphale’s back. No, they were flesh and blood and feathers spread out from one wall to the other, blocking Crowley’s view of the creature. The pearlescent shine of them stood out stark white against the gloom of the ruin.

They were also pierced completely through by a dozen long, black barbs from the creature’s body.

Aziraphale gurgled and slumped forward. Crowley put his arms on his shoulders to prop him back up. The Aerial’s eyes were half-lidded and had gone hazy with pain.

“O-oh dear me… t-that rather- rather hurts more than I thought it would,” he wheezed.

Before Crowley could admonish him for doing something so  _ stupid  _ as to use himself as a living shield, the creature began to drag itself free.

“Come on, angel! Get up! We’re almost out!” the redhead climbed to his feet and tried to pull Aziraphale after him from where he knelt on the floor, but the Aerial just groaned in agony at the attempt.

“C-can’t…” He whined. “ _ Hurts.  _ Need to… to…”

Aziraphale wrenched the ring off his pinkie with a trembling hand and passed it to Crowley. “H-hold onto that for me, w-would you? ‘S my Halo. Keeps me- keeps me f-from using too much… agh! Too much magic at once,”

“Angel? What are you doing?! Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath. 

Then he began to change.

The barbs in his wings rattled loose to fall to the floor as the wounds beneath them patched themselves up. Aziraphale’s scholar robe, stained with dust and blood as it was, bleached itself to a pristine white that hung off the body shifting beneath it. His broad shoulders narrowed to be even smaller than Crowley’s, and his hips widened slightly as the planes of his stomach flattened into an androngynous shape. The lines of his face smoothed out, making him look  _ far  _ younger than his endless years allowed. Even his unruly curls lengthened and straightened to flow freely around his head as if he were floating belly up in a pool of water.

To Crowley’s amazement (and mild horror) the being kneeling before him looked  _ nothing  _ like the fussy, overly polite Archivist who had coerced him into a whirlwind adventure on a forbidden planet. This was an Aerial at their truest form; a  _ warrior. _

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open and there were no comforting irises of celestial blue. Only pure white and lines of gold that trickled down his cheeks. 

“A-angel? Are you in there?” Crowley stammered.

“ **_GO_ ** ,”

Aziraphale’s voice was one of multitudes. He didn’t stand, but rose up until the tips of his toes were just grazing the floor. The limp hands that dangled at his sides crackled with sparks of electricity. 

Crowley’s instincts were screaming at him to  _ run _ , to flee until this specter of incandescent wrath was nothing but a blip on the horizon.

For once, he listened to those instincts.

Mostly.

Crowley slipped Aziraphale’s Halo onto his own left ring finger and bolted for the exit. He considered looking back, but the climbing static charge creeping up the back of his neck that caused his arm hair to stand on end made a  _ very  _ convincing case for him  _ not  _ to.

He  _ just  _ managed to make it out into the daylight when the sharp tang of ozone filled the air and the creature’s screech of agony was drowned out by a massive thunderclap. A rush of displaced air from inside the ruin would have sent Crowley tumbling down the ziggurat’s steps to break every one of his bones at the bottom had he not shot out his arms to hold fast to one of the corners.

When the screams, thunder, and wind died down, Crowley was left clinging to a chipped wall like his life depended on it. He slumped to the ground, eyes blown wide as he waited for his angel to come back through the exit.

For several moments, nothing happened.

Then, mercifully, Aziraphale staggered forward.

He had returned to his more human-looking form: laugh-lines, softness, blue eyes, and all.

“Holy  _ shit _ , angel! That was  _ incredible!” _ laughed Crowley.

When Aziraphale didn’t say anything or take another step, the smuggler began to realize that something was wrong. The Aerial’s chest was heaving, but no sounds were being produced. Then Aziraphale pitched forward and Crowley was barely able to catch him in time to prevent him from cracking his head on the stones. “Whoawhoawhoa! Angel! You okay?”

Aziraphale was taking deep, gasping breaths, but he didn’t seem to actually be  _ getting  _ much into his lungs. He blinked sluggishly a few times and Crowley could see the rosy pink of his lips tinged with purple.

Crowley cursed a line almost as blue as the veins standing out against Aziraphale’s pale flesh. The little  _ idiot  _ had used up all of his magic on killing the monster in the ruins and had none left to maintain the breathing charm attached to it! The Archivist’s whole body gave a shudder and his eyes rolled skyward.

“Nonono! You are  _ not  _ allowed to die in front of me! Do you  _ hear  _ me, Aziraphale?!” Crowley snapped. 

Aziraphale nodded weakly and Crowley ducked under an arm to help him to stand. Crowley might not have been a doctor or scholar or any other “learned” type, but he’d been on enough disastrous interplanetary smuggling runs to recognize oxygen starvation when he saw it. At the atmosphere’s current concentration, Aziraphale’s mental abilities would be hampered and any physical exertion would be crippling.

It was up to Crowley to get him to safety in the Bentley…

...2 kilometers away.

“Fuck fuck shit cock ass fuck!!”

“...L…  _ language… _ ” wheezed Aziraphale.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Aziraphale let out a rattling exhale that  _ may  _ have been an attempt at laughter, and it  _ did  _ bolster Crowley’s spirits somewhat to see that his angel’s faculties were still intact enough to make a joke. 

The climb down those stairs was going to be a bitch-and-a-half though…

*~*~*~*~*

The slow shuffle back to the Bentley had been, in two words,  _ an ordeal. _ Once the two of them had made it to the bottom of the ziggurat, Aziraphale hadn’t even been able to support his own weight. He had gone limp, and Crowley was forced to hold him tighter in an awkward, upright drag.

After the first kilometer, Aziraphale had started drifting in and out of consciousness and Crowley had frantically begun talking to him about anything and everything in an attempt to keep him awake.

_ “What’s your favorite food, Aziraphale? On second thought, don’t answer that. You need to not waste your breath. Literally. My favorite food is eggs. I know, ironic that a Serpenti likes eggs so much but it’s true!” _

_ “N-not… not the def… definition of… irony,” _

_ “Well, regardless, I love eggs! Boil ‘em, scramble ‘em, stick ‘em in a salad; it’s all good to me,” _

_ “Parents threw me out as a kid. Good riddance, I say,” _

_ “That cloud looks like a duck!” _

Aziraphale hadn’t responded to any of Crowley’s words (save for the mention of eggs) and the smuggler wasn’t  _ actually  _ sure he could understand him anyways, so he started promising him things to coax him back to wakefulness.

_ “Once you’re all better, I’m gonna take you to see the stars. We can go off together, just you and me, and I can show you all my favorite constellations up close. Did you know there’s a whole planet out there covered in diamonds? I bet you’ve never read anything like  _ that  _ in your little Archive,” _

Aziraphale’s head had just lolled forward.

When the Bentley finally,  _ finally _ , came into sight, Crowley hadn’t even hesitated to scoop Aziraphale up bridal-style and sprint the remaining distance.

“Hold on, Aziraphale. Just a few minutes more…”

The Bentley’s A.I. obediently opened the airlock doors and Crowley threw himself and Aziraphale into the ship as they closed shut behind them.

“Bentley! Begin Life Support Protocol! Oxygen Saturation at 30%!”

The ship, ever obedient, began pumping air into the cabin with a pressurized hiss. As that happened, Crowley rolled his friend onto his back and tilted his head up to open the airway. “Come  _ on, _ Aziraphale! Breathe! Breathe!!”

Aziraphale’s eyes remained closed, and Crowley pressed his head to his chest to listen for a heartbeat. Did Aerials even  _ have  _ heartbeats?

His question was answered with a slow, weak, fluttering beneath his ear that did  _ not  _ sound healthy. Crowley didn’t lift his head, too scared that if he did, the heartbeat would grow silent. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped a fistful of Aziraphale’s robes. 

“Please,  _ pleassssse  _ don’t go. I promised you the  _ stars _ , Aziraphale. And I meant it!” He pulled the Credits out of his pocket and placed it between his fangs. With a quick twist, the plastic card was torn in half and discarded. “Look! Aziraphale look! You didn’t pay me for the job! You can’t leave without paying me, right? That would be really  _ rude _ !”

Terror seized his heart in its icy grip. He didn’t  _ care  _ that he only knew Aziraphale for a little over a day, he couldn’t stand the thought of watching him slip away on the floor of the Bentley. He lifted a shaky fist to pound weakly at the body below him. 

He had been  _ so close _ . If he had been a little bit stronger, a little bit  _ faster… _

He couldn’t even sob; grief had stolen the breath from his lungs. 

“Please, please,  _ please _ don’t leave me here alone. I sssstill had so much I wanted to ask you. To  _ tell  _ you. Would that help? I… I’m pretty smitten with you. I  _ know  _ it’s too fast to know for ssssure but… when you called me out on my bullshit in that tavern I- I knew. I certainly felt  _ sssssomething,  _ then.”

Crowley didn’t even care that he was lapsing into hisses in his desperation. He had no room for shame anymore. All he had room in his heart for was crushing loss that left him feeling like somebody had taken a large spoon and hollowed him out from throat to navel. 

His hiccuping sobs were the only sound in the utterly silent room. Crowley pushed himself up to hover over his friend’s still form. With the gentlest touch his trembling hands could muster, he dragged his fingertips down the sides of that cherubic face he had come to hold so dear. 

“Come back to me,” he whispered, then pressed a single, soft kiss to slack, pink lips.

Wait.

Pink?

“For Mother’s  _ sake _ , Crowley, ‘m trying to  _ sleep, _ ” groused Aziraphale.

Crowley inhaled so sharply that he actually choked for a second.

“Aziraphale! D-did my kiss bring you back to life? Is that something that happens with Aerial magic? Like in the stories?” he babbled.

Aziraphale craned open one bleary eye to glare up at him. “ _ No _ , you absolute  _ loon! _ I woke up to you muttering some nonsense about stars and tried to go back to sleep, but you wouldn’t. Stop.  _ Talking _ .”

Crowley’s face flushed scarlet and he sputtered, “ _ Sleeping?!  _ I thought you were  _ dead _ ! How much of my mourning did you  _ hear?!” _

Aziraphale just sighed and pulled Crowley back down to his chest, despite the protesting of his muscles.

“Yes, yes, I’m quite smitten with you too, darling. We can discuss this later, but  _ please _ just let me sleep for an hour or two. It’s all I ask,”

Crowley wanted to screech and curse and pull away, but the sheer  _ relief  _ of having his angel alive and in his arms kind of overshadowed everything else. He huffed in annoyance before kissing the pale column of exposed throat that was so  _ temptingly  _ close.

“Fine.  _ One hour _ ,” he griped. “Then it’s back on the road.”

“There are  _ no roads  _ in space, darling,”

“Shut the fuck up,”

*~*~*~*~*

_ Four  _ hours later, they were pulling the same “Invisibility/Heat Shielding” trick to sneak  _ back  _ over the border into Alliance-approved space. This time, however, when the acceleration threw Aziraphale into Crowley’s lap, he didn’t protest. Instead he wiggled a bit to make himself more comfortable (Crowley had to think  _ very  _ unsexy thoughts to avoid embarrassing himself) and snapped his fingers to summon the infamous book that had nearly cost him his life into his hands.

“So, what’s that book about?” Crowley asked, pulling his knees up a bit to cage Aziraphale between them.

“It’s about a man who has a magical portrait commissioned of himself. He stays young forever, while the portrait ages  _ for  _ him, eventually becoming a reflection of his darkness and madness,”

“Pfft, sounds dumb,”

“Of course  _ you  _ would think that, but this book will be a  _ fine  _ addition to the Alliance’s archives!”

Crowley’s arms came to wrap around Aziraphale’s torso. He buried his face between the other man’s shoulder blades.

That’s what he was though, wasn’t he?

A smuggler.

A wanted criminal of an outcast race, unwelcome on  _ any  _ Alliance territory. 

There was no room for him in Aziraphale’s life of cozy reading nooks and “civilized” society. He couldn’t stifle the sniffle enough before Aziraphale heard it.

“Darling? Are you alright back there?”

“‘M fine, angel. It’s just…” Crowley took a shuddering breath. “You know I can’t go back with you, right? That once we get to the Archives, I have to leave before I’m caught and arrested?”

Aziraphale apparently  _ hadn’t  _ thought of that, judging by the way his whole body went stiff.

“I… er…”

“It’s  _ fine _ , angel. I won’t make you give up your life of security for some thieving Serpenti you just met. I’ll take you back to the Archives and… well, if you ever want to hire me again, you know where to find me,”

Crowley couldn’t see it from where he was sitting, but Aziraphale was nibbling on his bottom lip like he always did when deep in thought. 

He  _ could  _ go back to the Archives, but that would mean only seeing Crowley sporadically in clandestine rendezvous. As much as Aziraphale wanted to chide himself for doing so, he  _ had  _ gotten rather attached to the smuggler whose lap he was currently seated in. 

The  _ logical  _ thing to do would be to return to the Archives, send Crowley away, and  _ never  _ seek him out again. Having hired him  _ once  _ was enough to get Aziraphale thrown into jail for criminal conspiracy should they ever be discovered. He briefly considered offering to pay off Crowley’s bounty so the Serpenti could strut about as a free man. However, knowing his reputation, his bounty would most likely be simply, “WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE. PREFERABLY DEAD”.

Besides, even  _ if  _ Aziraphale were able to pay off the bounty, Crowley would still be discriminated against because of both his criminal past  _ and  _ his species. As loathe as Aziraphale was to admit it, smuggling suited the man. Crowley even seemed to  _ enjoy  _ the thrill of it.

Mind made up, Aziraphale squirmed in his “seat” until he was lounging sideways with his legs splayed over the arm of the Bentley’s captain’s chair. He leaned forward  _ juuuuust  _ enough until his lips barely ghosted over Crowley’s.

“Stop the ship,” he whispered.

“Huh? Wha-?”

“ _ Stop. The ship,” _

Helpless to do anything  _ but _ obey, Crowley released the throttle of the Bentley and it stilled. Aziraphale smirked and rewarded Crowley with a brief, chaste peck, then pulled away when the smuggler went to chase after another one. “Thank you, dearest. I was thinking that the Alpha Centauri system would be a lovely place to visit. Or perhaps the Sea of Tranquility?”

Crowley searched Aziraphale’s face for any sign of disingenuousness. He surely couldn’t be talking about leaving the Planetary Alliance behind, could he? Not…

_ Eloping, _ his mind unhelpfully supplied.

Crowley did the mental equivalent of waving off a cloud of annoying smoke and asked in a voice filled with undisguised hope, “A-are you sure, angel? You really want to… to run away with me?”

Aziraphale let his book fall to the floor in favor of wrapping his arms around his beloved smuggler’s shoulders.

“Well, as it turns out,” he started. “I  _ tried  _ to convince my superiors at the Archives that tracking down this book was of  _ great  _ importance. My proposal was, unfortunately, rejected, so I told them that I would look for it  _ myself _ . And- oh! Would you look at that? Aziraphale was last seen entering a  _ seedy  _ spaceport tavern before vanishing quite entirely. Seems like the poor, naive bookworm must have gotten involved with some  _ bad eggs  _ and is now missing and presumed dead. Aerials don’t leave behind bodies when they die, after all, so why bother trying to recover one? No I’m afraid, poor Aziraphale is quite doomed.”

Aziraphale gave a pleased shimmy of his shoulders at Crowley’s slack-jawed countenance.

“You… you utter  _ bastard _ ,” Crowley gaped.

His voice had gone breathless and reedy.

“I take it then that you’re amenable to the idea?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley didn’t reply with  _ words. _

He simply crushed Aziraphale against him to claim him in a frantic, open-mouthed kiss that was quite a bit more passionate than the other two they had shared thus far. His enthusiasm was met with equal fervor, and when he felt a probing tongue brush against his own, one thought swam through the haze of ardor to the surface of his mind:

_ He doesn’t taste like sunlight or champagne.  _

_ He tastes like a new beginning. _

**Author's Note:**

> I have plenty of other AU's and Good Omens fics! Go check them out or come visit me at candyqueenblog.tumblr.com!


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